Gates
by sparzelli
Summary: Post series finale. Katara washes up on the shores of the Fire Nation injured and with no memory of the past several years. The message she was bringing to Zuko is forgotten, and he's running out of time to figure out the danger following behind her. ZK


"His bones are full of the sin of his youth, which shall lie down with him in the dust."

Job 20:11

* * *

It had been two years and Zuko was still not used to waking up in a real bed.

He was not used to the catered breakfasts, the heavy fabric of his robes, the bowing and the respectful titles. He sometimes forgot that when he looked out of his window, any window, the land he saw was his own.

After being crowned Fire Lord, everything had come back to him – he distantly remembered all of his lessons from childhood diligently preparing him for the very position he now held. He knew the basics of ruling a country: the manners, the looks, the laws, the rules, the social aspects. Nobody had prepared him for the biting truth of it.

In the back of his mind, the tiny part of him that would always be a small boy working too hard for approval, he was still angry that Ozai hadn't been his father in the truest sense of the word. He had never helped him understand what it truly took to be a ruler. He hated his father for what he did, hated him for scarring his face and banishing him and for loving his sister more. He was thankful to Ozai only for the fact that his abandonment had driven him towards Iroh.

Zuko had spent the first several months ruling his Empire without sleep. There were so many things he had to review, renew, change, amend, and discover about his lost country that he couldn't bear the lost time.

He had to have many long discussions with Officials and Generals, and then their subordinates, to ensure loyalty to not only himself, but the new peace the Avatar had instilled within the world after defeating Ozai. It was hard, dirty work, convincing some of the older and more experienced men that peace was the better option. Not even the better option, but the only option, as far as Zuko was concerned. He would never forget the hardships of his youth, the peace he had fought alongside Aang and so many others to earn.

He would never let his country return to what it once was. They were a proud people; not warmongers.

Zuko remembered the way a soldier had approached him on the way out of a military base in Ba Sing Se and, ignoring all pretenses of formality, had gripped his forearms and thanked him so vehemently, with tears in his eyes, praising the new Fire Lord for allowing him to return home to his family. The man had a wife, a son, and a daughter on the way. Zuko had smiled, clasping the man's hands.

He built a memorial on the outskirts of the Capitol. It was lush and green, with a pond: his personal tribute to the earthbenders and waterbenders lost in the madness, however small. A massive pit was in the very center of the pond in which a fire burned, but never slowed or lost heat. It was beautiful – not that Zuko would admit this out loud to anybody, lest he lose face. He had more important things to worry over than the petty matter of aesthetics. He had many people that worked for him who were paid to pay attention to that business.

But these were the things he remembered the most about those first few months.

And either way, if he had tried to sleep, Zuko wouldn't have had the time. Decent rest was a luxury he had only recently been afforded, now that things were slowing down into a steady rhythm of peace. It was hard to accept that everything would still be alright when he woke up. He had spent so long traveling, searching, hunting, praying to any God who was listening that everything would be alright one day, that once he was actually graced with his wish and time to enjoy it he didn't know what to do.

In his down time, he was always at an utter loss as for what to do.

He thought to take a walk and spend time at the memorial, or in the gardens. But what was the point of enjoying nature when he had so much to do? He would only worry.

He thought of spending extra time in the bath to relax, but what for, when he would get riled up again soon enough? There wasn't enough hot water in the world to unknot his muscles.

He thought to eat a snack. But then a sneaking voice crept up behind him, telling him to ration himself, be careful with his supplies, because he didn't know when they would run out, or if something would happen and he would be unable to get more.

Zuko knew he was crazy to think half of these things after all this time. He knew nothing serious was going to happen, not for a while at least, and he had time to rest and take care of himself and indulge after so many weeks, months, years, spent out in the elements doing bitter work, biding his time.

Still, he could never shake the feeling that something was lurking around the corner, waiting to sneak up on him.

To take his throne. To take his friends. To take his life.

00

"The tax rate had been increasing steadily to compensate for the war. It would be illogical to keep it so high now that spending on the military has been so drastically cut."

Zuko rubbed his temples. Taxes had been the topic of his meeting with his advisors for most of the morning, half of them wanting rates to be cut and the other half urging him to keep rates the same. This had been an ongoing issue for years now.

"If you lower taxes, it could cause recession – people could save their money, relieved at having the excess, staunch the flow and essentially drive us into recession," an older man, Gao, implored.

"Or," Zuko countered, "people could spend the money. Not everybody is going to want to save every last bit. Some people tend to spend extra when they're able to." He thought of himself, years ago. If he had ever had extra money, what would he have done? Would he have spent it?

He held his tongue. He would have stashed it under his mattress and watched every person that entered his bedroom like a hawk. Although, he reminded himself, those were definitely harder times. The world was changing every day.

"But enough people are going to want to save portions of their money that it could truly cause a problem," Gao admitted.

Zuko sighed. He had had enough of the tax problems. The advisors more educated in the economics of running a nation had been drilling holes into his brain for too long.

"Let us lower the rates and see what happens. Not by much – perhaps only a small percentage, to gauge people's reactions."

Gao nodded, writing something down on a piece of parchment. A scribe sat at a separate table, scribbling furiously, taking notes of the meeting.

Zuko sighed. Onto the next topic.

"Now. The size of the military – "

A frantic knocking sounded at the closed door of the meeting room. Zuko eyed his advisors, each looking confused. Nobody was expecting any interruptions.

"Fire Lord Zuko! Your highness! If I may – "

Everybody in the room raised an eyebrow at the servant boy rushing into the room. He stumbled over nothing and caught himself before he hit the floor. His black hair was shaggy, cut messily into his golden eyes. The boy reminded Zuko a bit of himself, two years ago, opening the door to see his father…

"What do you think you're doing, interrupting the Fire Lord's important meeting? Just _what _business do you think is so important that it simply cannot wait?"

Zuko eyed Lan, a rather crotchety member of the advisory board. He was bitter, and Zuko had sensed that he much preferred Ozai to himself.

"I apologize sir, your Highness," heaved the servant boy. He paused to breathe.

"What is your name?" Zuko inquired.

"Sheng, Fire Lord Zuko. I truly am sorry to interrupt."

Zuko shifted in his chair. If it wouldn't have been absurd, preposterous and completely wrong of him to do so, he would have thanked the boy for saving him from discussing the burnt out topic of military. If Zuko had to sit through another hour of Gao trying to convince him of the benefits of continued expansion he would set fire to the table.

"Sheng. What do you need?"

Sheng blinked, gesturing to the door behind him. "A girl was found, washed up on the beach a few miles from here. We don't know how long she's been there, but she's unconscious and injured. She appears to be dying, sir – "

Zuko's heart clenched. It couldn't be anybody he knew. Or rather, it must be, because why else would Sheng be speaking to him?

"Why would this matter to us? Who is she?" Gao asked, saving Zuko the breath. He twitched in annoyance at Gao's usage of 'us' – Sheng's words had not been directed at him in any way. Pompous ass.

"I didn't see her, but several people recognized her from the Coronation years ago – Lady Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, they seemed to remember the strange way she wore those loops in her hair – "

Zuko stood too fast, knocking his chair backwards. Lan succumbed to a coughing fit. A cruel part of Zuko hoped the man was choking.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

Sheng took a step backwards under Zuko's harsh gaze. "W-with the doctors, they've been trying to wake her up…"

Zuko left without a word, leaving unfinished business in his wake.

_She appears to be dying._

He had an eternity on his hands to continue fixing his country. Katara needed him now.

This was what he told himself as he abandoned his advisors.

00

He didn't recognize her at first solely because his view was blocked by the doctors.

The bed she was on was surrounded by men and women in white, hands fluttering absently over her face and body to check for injury. She wasn't moving. A man peeled back an eyelid to check pupil response and something funny wiggled into his stomach.

He tried not to see the blood; there were gashes ripped in the fabric of her black leggings, gaping stains leaking through the blue tunic, both red and brown; her hairline was stained and her skin was washed out. He saw the raw openness of her cuts. She had bruises all over her. A doctor untied the front of her tunic to reveal what was underneath.

Zuko looked away to preserve some sense of decency, but when he heard the doctor gasp he looked back. Bruises covered her ribs, purple to yellow to green and blue. Some bones were most likely broken. She had been stabbed.

His heart caught in his throat. He couldn't tell what emotion he felt first: fear, anger, loathing, sadness, regret, or some nasty mixture of any or all of them.

This girl that he had fought with. That he had fought for. That he had fought alongside.

The girl he had taken a shot of Azula's lightning to the chest for-

He would never let her die.

He stepped into the hall to catch his breath amidst the murmurings of the people swarming about in the room. He put a hand on his chest, breathing deep and evenly. Panic wouldn't help anybody.

Who had done this to her? What enemies did Katara possess? She had been beaten, stabbed, broken and tossed into the sea – he choked back his anger – like a piece of trash. He would find who had done this and wring their neck with his own hands. She was lucky to have been found. He didn't know what he would have done if – if she had bled to death, been prey to animals – prey to other _people_ –

After a few minutes he stepped back into the room. Her tunic had been completely removed, he noticed, as had her leggings. She was exposed. He blinked idly.

"You," he called to a servant. "Go get her clothes. Just some loose pants and a shirt. On second thought, get a couple pairs."

The small girl nodded, rushing out of the room. He tucked a stray piece of black hair into his topknot.

What to do, what to do…

He clenched a fist.

"Is she alright?"

One of the doctors threw a hunk of gauze in the air, placing a hand on her cheek and breathing heavily.

"My Lord! Zu – Your Highness! You frightened me. She…she'll be alright. We just need to staunch the blood flow and get her cuts sewn shut," the doctor, Ani, replied.

"What injuries has she…sustained?" he questioned.

"Three cracked ribs. A stab wound. Some major burns, some minor…she's been hit on the head, we're worried she might…she might have – or, um, forget…"

"She's probably concussed."

"Severely," Ani admitted. She wrapped a new piece of gauze around her gloved fingers. She paused and looked at Zuko once more. When it was clear he wasn't going to say anything else, she turned back to Katara, feeling her skull for further injury.

He furrowed his brows and looked at her body, broken and victimized, lying upon the bed.

00

Zuko was pacing the floor of his office, distracted by multiple people rushing in and out of his vision with documents, papers, and messages for him to look at. He could barely focus his thoughts. He hadn't slept much in the past couple of days, which ordinarily he would be used to seeing as he had spent so many months on scant amounts after the coronation, but even when he did sleep nowadays nightmares plagued him.

He didn't know what to make of Katara. She would not wake up. She slept soundly under the sheets in the hospital room and wouldn't even move. She slept. And slept. And slept.

Her breathing was sound, her temperature normal and her heart rate steady. Medically speaking, aside from the injuries she still sustained, she was fine. He knew when she woke she would be able to heal herself, albeit a bit slowly.

The only thing they were all waiting on was her choice alone – to slumber forever, or to wake up.

00

_She stood at a great precipice. The wind whipped at her braid, bringing tears to her eyes. She wiped them away with the back of her hand and looked down._

_It was a long fall, she knew. She had hit rock bottom before. There were voices drifting through the wind, long fingers pulling at her heartstrings, telling her what to do/who to be/what to think/which side to fight for. She was utterly confused and lost. _

_She wanted to step off the edge and fall into the abyss. _

_What did she have to lose? Everything around her was gray and dead. The sky was blank and there wasn't any life. She had no choice but to jump._

_No choice at all, really. _

_She had never had a choice. Her life had been a long string of forced actions. She didn't remember for sure, but this she knew for certain._

_Golden eyes, an innocent smile, a battle cry – a little girl with no shoes – _

_Spiraling down to the dark._

00

Something woke Zuko in the middle of the night. At first he wasn't sure what it was, although there was an itchy feeling that things were utterly _wrong _in the world, and the fact that he couldn't quite place his finger on what those things were was the most disturbing part. He blinked awkwardly in the dark of his room before he realized what was going on.

The pitter patter of tiny feet outside of his room, unused to the echo of wood floors.

Somebody was in the hallway.

He clenched a fist, feeling his fire pool in the center of his chest, resting until he needed it. He pulled back the sheets on his bed and crept towards the door. The footsteps were unsure; this person – or whatever it happened to be – was unfamiliar with its surroundings. How had an intruder managed to get into the palace?

Unless they were already there to begin with.

His spine tingled. When he reached the door, he took a deep breath, preparing to defend himself from whatever was outside.

He twisted the handle and threw open the heavy, wooden door, sending a preliminary stream of fire into the open to light the way.

He bit his tongue and tasted blood.

"_Katara?"_

The girl in question looked alarmed and stumbled backwards, feet tripping over a carpet. She swung her arms wildly, unable to regain her footing before she fell backwards. Zuko took a step towards her. What was she doing out of bed? When had she woken up?

Why hadn't someone _told_ him?

He set fire to sconces on the walls.

"What in the world are you doing here?" He asked her.

Her eyes darted to the left before she set her mouth in a grim line and shot up, taking off down the hallway.

"Katara, wait – what the hell are you doing!"

Zuko chased after her, upsetting a plant on a table as he rounded the corner too quickly. The clay pot shattered on the floor and he grimaced. Her thick brown hair was unbound, waving down her back as she ran from him. She didn't know where to go, which was odd – she had been to the palace dozens of times before.

He was more concerned with how odd it was that she was running from him. They had known each other for years. She must have had a reason, he thought, otherwise…he didn't know what to think.

When he managed to chase her down a dead end, she ran straight into a corner and turned, watching him like a caged animal.

"Get back! Stay away from me!" She held up her arms uselessly.

"I'm not going to hurt you Katara," Zuko murmured. "Why are you running? What's going on? You should still be resting."

"Who are you?" She demanded.

Zuko froze, and it came back to him.

_Concussed. Forgotten._

She had no idea who he was.

How hard had she been hit in the head? How severe was her concussion...?

Was it permanent?

He swallowed thickly. "You don't…remember me. Do you?" He asked quietly.

She shook her head and looked at her surroundings, presumably for a weapon. When she found one, she narrowed her eyes and tried to dart around him.

"Should I?" she spat.

Katara darted around his body – his fingers, just brushing her shoulder – and the awkward way her stomach turned caused her to cry out and fall to her knees. He knelt beside her neatly.

"I would never hurt you." He put his hand on her shoulder and sensed her tense.

"How do I know you're not lying?" she mumbled in defeat. She felt her torso; stitches had been opened.

"You don't," he admitted. "My name is Zuko. You're under my care. I'm here to help you, I promise. Because I'm your friend."

She looked sharply at his face.

"You're Fire Nation," she ground out. "You are not my friend."

He bit his lip. She didn't remember that the war had ended. She didn't know anything. She might as well have been a little girl all over again.

"Let me take you back to the hospital room."

She stared accusingly at his scar. He ached uncomfortably, in ways he hadn't felt in years, and something inside of him clenched up. She eventually nodded.

His hand slipped from her shoulder to grip her bicep, helping her stand shakily. She bent over a little and made a pained noise.

"Here," he muttered. He put one arm under her legs and swept her up into his grasp. She didn't make a single noise, just let her eyelids close in exhaustion from her escape attempt.

"Don't fall asleep on me again," he whispered. She opened an eye lazily and watched him from beneath her lashes.

"You worry too much, don't you?"

She fell asleep once more in his arms as he carried her back the way she had run from. When she woke for good, they would have a lot to talk about.


End file.
